COLUMN SEVENTY-FIVE, SEPTEMBER 1, 2002
(Copyright © 2002 Al Aronowitz
WARNING! FOR ADULTS ONLY! PERSONS UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS STORY.
Litzky is a poet and writer of fiction, non fiction and erotica. We call her America's
queen of erotic literature. Susie Bright, editor of the yearly Best
American Erotica books, calls her "Miss Dirty Stories." Tsaurah's
work has appeared in Best American Erotica 95, 97, 99, 2001 and will be
included in BAE 2002. She has also been published in Penthouse,
LONGSHOT, The Unbearables, Crimes of the Beats, Appearances, Downtown Poets, The
Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, Pink Pages, Beet and many other books and
periodicals. Her poetry books include Kamikaze Lover (Appearances 1999)
and the recently published Good Bye Beautiful Mother (Low Tech Press
2001). Formerly a columnist for the now defunct New York arts weekly Downtown,
she now teaches erotic writing and literature at the New School University.
It is woman's Wednesday at the Tenth Street Baths. I am in
the Russian sauna room lying
butt up on the lowest tier of the three-tiered benches with a towel over my
head. The place is packed, women seated squeezed side by side. I'm being
obstinate and selfish, taking up enough room for two and a half. I'm indulging
myself in this anti-social behavior because I'm feeling bitter, yet another
failed love affair. I have come here to try to sweat my anger out and to console
myself with the sight of all this luscious woman flesh. In the sauna I am a shameless voyeur. I love to contemplate
the bodies, appreciate, marvel, and compare. It would be too obvious, too rude
to stare, but the towel on my head affords me protection. Some of the women sit
silent. Others chatter together like schoolgirls. Some relax, open their knees,
show their sex. In the half darkness I think I see flowers growing between their
legs, peonies, orchids, marigolds, tiger lilies, dahlias.
The woman on one side of me stands up to reveal thighs as thick as my
waist, a massive ass. When she turns to grab the water bucket, she flashes me a
moon so wide it fills my eyes. All I can see is moist, pink flesh.
This makes me think of Peter's tight small bottom, half the
size of the one before me. The last time we were in his bed, I wanted to hold
his lean ass in my hands, to run my tongue down between his butt crack and snack
there. When I asked him to lie on his belly and give me his bottom he would not.
Instead he roughly pushed me onto my back. He sat on top of me while he reached
over to the bedside table and tore open the condom that rested on it.. He slid
it on his already swollen cock. Then he shifted his weight. He tried to pin one
of my legs over my head with one arm while he held the other leg open with his
thigh in the same way that he did the last time. He had done this the time
before too and the time before that, so that he could, as he put it, 'throw a
fuck into me." He liked to pretend he was a sleazy hood with a gutter mouth,
even though he had two P.H. D's. He liked to be the big bully, the one in
control. I knew he was afraid of
the power of what happened between us. Maybe he believed in the vagina dentata,
that one day my snatch might pull back to reveal a sharp set of teeth, then
I'd bite his cock off and spit it out on the sheets. What good would it do me
then, foolish man?
This time, finally, I would not let him run the show. I
wanted, deserved, was entitled to some variety. Suddenly I pushed his arm down with my leg, grabbed his
shoulder and flipped his body over, knocking him flat on his back.
"Hey," he'd said in an angry tone, "Hey?? but I was already on top, my thighs spread wide like the sides of a pyramid. I took him inside me so fast sparks flew. I lifted off and rammed down again
.with the condom
hanging like a silly rag
at the end of his prick. . .'
and again. His eyes were half shut and he was snarling up at
me. He didn't like what I had done but he couldn't stop himself from moving
beneath me. His cock jumped and twisted inside my cunt with the combination of
movements I had learned meant he was about to let go. I bent my face down
wanting to kiss his beautiful mouth. Before I could, he reached out, grabbed a
pillow and put it over his head. I
did not let this cruelty deter me, I pumped him steadily, sure of my purpose.
Under the pillow I could him panting as we came together. I got right off him
then, and went into the bathroom leaving him to deal with the condom hanging
like a silly rag at the end of his prick. Usually, I would pull it off and lick
him clean but I no longer cared. When I got out of the bathroom he was curled up
on the bed like a hermit snail.
"I'm going." I said.
He just grunted. After I dressed I went back into the
bathroom and got my douche bag, my LiquidSilk and my Nyquil out of the medicine
cabinet. I put them in my backpack and went out the door.
I stretch, clasp my hands behind my head, how good it feels
to surrender my fury, my resistance, my power, such as it is, to the healing
heat, the ancient fires of the sauna gods. The woman with the big ass next to me
rises. There is a peeling sound as she lifts her towel from the wooden bench.
When she opens the door to leave, a draft of cool air blows in and a few other
Someone sits down in the vacant place next to me. Beneath the
corner of the towel, I can see that this woman has very, very, big feet with
giant bunions, enormous toes. Her toenails are painted a shade between midnight
blue and purple. Her big toe is so big, as big as some cocks I've known. I
want to get some action going with that big toe. I imagine the woman's toe
inside of me, all her toes inside me, little
digits pressing on my clit, dancing along my labia, this
little piggy goes to market, this little piggy goes home, this little piggy
cries wee, wee, we,. . .and this little piggy. . .
"?Do you think she's sleeping?? a shrill voice asks,
then louder, "Excuse me please, but we'd like to sit down." I pretend I
don't hear, then pull off the towel, raise my head and say in what I think is
a sleepy voice. "W?w...what??
please sit up, so we could fit in here."
says one of the two women,
standing before me, both of whom have perfect, large, pear-shape breasts,
possibly the result of surgery. "Oh, oh, sure," I say, pretending I just
woke up. I slowly stand. I make a show of it. I fold my towel into a cushion,
put it down on the bench and sit. Both women thank me, courteous after having
disturbed one who was sleeping so deeply.
"No problem, " I magnanimously respond.
From my new vantage point I can see the several women sitting across from me on the opposite bench. One is a very pregnant woman with a stomach which looks like a giant football about to burst along the seam. Next to her, sits a slender woman with short purple hair. She has kiddy tits, her breasts very small with tiny pink nipples. Her thin legs are spread wide, her vulva is shaved but it seems to be covered with a peculiar red and yellow rash, spotted with blue. I subtly inch
'. . .Once I thought of shaving my crotch and tattooing "Take no Prisoners" on my labia. . .'
forward to get a better look. I put my arms out in front of
me, bend the top of my body forward as in the crow pose in yoga. I am closer
now. I can distinctly see what is on her vulva. It is not a rash at all, it is a
tattoo. It is the sacred heart, the sacred heart of Jesus!
This woman understands that sex is love AND redemption. I
wonder if she is catholic- born, Lutheran, Baptist or Unitarian. Maybe, like me,
she is a Jewish-born atheist who consoles herself with the anarchic divinity of
symbols. Between her parted legs I can see the glint of a silver ring. I don't
feel angry anymore. I feel delighted, exalted the way that I do when in an art
gallery, amidst the imitations and masturbatory self-indulgent work, I suddenly
come upon a painting of startling beauty. Once I thought of shaving my crotch
and tattooing Take no Prisoners on my
labia but could not get up the nerve, maybe this will inspire me. I am gawking.
I sit up straight, close my eyes. I'm suddenly very
thirsty, dehydrated. I've been in
here too long. I rise, grab the nearest water bucket and up end it over my head.
The cascade of water doesn't dispel my dizziness. I best go upstairs to the
locker room and lie down. As I gather my towel and put on my rubber slippers I
can't help but look over at the woman. She smiles right back at me, a big open
smile and I manage to smile back. I exit the sauna, shower, go upstairs to the
locker room. I grab a couple of fresh towels and claim one of the six cots. I
make a turban out of one towel, wrap the other sarong style under my arms. I
collapse on the cot half asleep, half awake.
In this twilight state, I think about my crazy life, the
bodies I embrace, how I keep looking for safe harbor although I know there is
none. I drink vodka, smoke pot and do yoga, eat nothing but baked apples for a
week. I wake and go right to my typewriter, my head filled with visions and
dreams. I think about my colleague at the faculty meeting last week, the one who
said I didn't look like I should be teaching sex writing. He said I wasn't
sexy and gorgeous enough. I just walked away even though I wanted to grab him by
his puny crotch and squeeze his voice out of him. I think how I love my
students, how I want to be a holy crazy shepherd of rebellion like in the Allen
Ginsberg poem. I think how my dead mother would like my new long black and white
tweed coat. I think about that big turquoise rubber dildo in Babes in Toyland
that costs fifty-nine ninety-nine, I think
I want some Thai food. I want"."
"Excuse me, I hate to disturb you?? a voice says. I
open my eyes to see sacred heart woman standing above me. She is dressed in
Reebok's, jeans and a red sweatshirt that says Brooklyn
on it in white letters. "But I just had to speak to you before I go, aren't
you a writer?? she asks.
"Yes, I am," I say.
"Didn't you read on Wet Wednesday at the Unbearables Arts
Festival? My boyfriend and I loved your story. We wanted to speak to you after,
maybe invite you for a drink, but there were so many people clustered around
you. We just went home. Later we wished we had been more patient. My name is
"It's hard not to notice it," she said. 'some people might think it's weird but I love it. I got it in Amsterdam five years ago. First I wanted to put the Sacred Heart on my arm but when my boyfriend suggested I put it on my mound I knew that was exactly right. Actually," and she
. .Well maybe
we could just all go
to bed together. . .'
hesitated a minute, "when my boyfriend and I saw you at the
reading, you looked so great in that pink, leather strapless dress, we wondered
if you might, uh.. you know.. uh, want to play with us??
I was surprised at her directness.
"Play," I asked, "You mean play like in playing
Scrabble or tennis or play like in playing doctor??
"Well maybe we could just all go to bed together," she
"I haven't even met your boyfriend. Who is he, how long
have you been with each other?? I wanted to know.
I noticed she and I were wearing the same shade of dark red nail polish.
"I can understand you being cautious," Lena said.
"Absolutely," I said, "do you do this all the time,
approach strange women and invite them into your bedroom??
"No," she answered, "very rarely, actually we only did
it once before. We just both thought you were wonderful. Anyhow, Kim and I have
been together for ages. He's a photographer and I'm a fabric designer. We
met at Pratt. It seems like lifetimes ago."
"I know what you mean. It feels like I've lived twenty
lives in this one, and that's only so far," I said.
"Why don't you come over and meet Kim?? Lena asked,
"Maybe you'll like him and we'll all hit it off, at least we could
get to be friends."
The woman standing before me did not look like a white
slaver. I gave her my number.
One evening, a week later, I found myself standing outside a
two-family house on a quiet, residential street in Greenpoint. As I rang the top
bell I felt nervous and strange. I heard footsteps on the other side of the door
and then it was flung open by a moon-faced oriental man. He looked like an
overweight Jackie Chan. He extended a plump hand.
"I'm Kim," he said, "it was such a lucky coincidence
that you and Lena met at the baths. We liked you so much, but then again I
don't know if I believe in coincidence."
I felt immediately at ease with him. "I only believe
happenings are coincidences when I want to ignore what they mean," I replied.
"We're speaking the same language," he said. "What a
relief, I was afraid you might turn out to be one of those writers who can only
be real on the page."
Lena's voice floated down the stairs, "What are you two
doing down there," she said, "planning world peace? Come up and have a
"Yes ma?am," Kim yelled back, and I followed him up the
stairs. Lena was waiting at the top of the landing, standing in the open door.
"What a great tweed coat," she said.
They had knocked the walls down in what Lena told me had been
a four room railroad apartment thus making one big room. In the corner by the
big picture window there was a large bed covered with a patchwork quilt. I
looked at it quickly than looked away.
"Please don't worry," said Lena, "we're a little
nervous too. I've made sushi. I hope you like it," she said.
"I couldn't live without it," I told her.
After the sushi and much plum wine we were not so nervous. Kim offered a hand to me and a hand to Lena and silently we went over to the bed. He undressed Lena slowly, reverentially. He
hardened and I was
suddenly so wet
kissed each part, her collarbone, her graceful, slender arms,
her navel. her cleft, decorated by the tattoo. When she was completely unclothed
she sat on the bed. She spread her legs to show me the glistening, silver ring
inserted in her labia.
'that piercing really must have hurt bad," I said. "No,
not much more than having your ears pierced," she answered, "Do you want to
I did, I gingerly reached out with two fingers, touched the
silver ring, then, getting bolder, I tugged at it a few times.
"Oh, oh,? Lena
signed, and she did a little bump and grind like a belly dancer, then she stuck
her tongue out at me. My nipples hardened and I was suddenly so wet, I thought
my juices would pour out of me onto the floor. I started to pull off my clothes.
Kim helped me and then Lena and I undressed him, kissing and sucking as we went.
His chest and arms were hairless and underdeveloped but his cock was long and
thick and already waving at us.
As Lena and I knelt before him and removed his socks and
shoes, Kim told me that in China the traditional name for cock was jade stalk.
Kim took our hands again and we tumbled onto the bed. Lena and I were about the
same size. When we kissed we fit perfectly together. We could be sisters and Kim
was our big, jade stalk daddy. Kim moved his body south. He started kissing and
licking our ankles, our toes, the soles of our feet. I looked down and saw him
take Lena's tiny heel into his mouth, then he did the same for me. Lena's
body covered mine like a silk hand. I could feel her tiny nipples pressing into
my fuller breasts while she fucked my mouth with her plum wine tongue.
As we rubbed together with increasing intensity, I wondered if, to her Sacred Heart, my wiry bush felt like a crown of thorns. If it did, she did not seem to mind. I could feel her silver ring tap-tap-tapping my labia. Our bottom mouths opened to each other like two gobbling fish, consumed and consuming, joined together by tongues of fire. Suddenly, I felt Kim's large, soft hand between my legs, between myself and Lena. He was lifting Lena up, using his hands as a wedge. Then I felt the heavy heat, the solid weight of his jade stalk as it moved between us, first into me, then into Lena, into me, into Lena again. His rhythm was strong and certain. Lena and I, our lips still joined, were looking at each other, connected by a golden beam of light. As Kim continued to move between us, mingled with our sighs of pleasure, I could hear the beating of my own sacred heart. ##
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